My heart went out to that little girl. I could only imagine how traumatizing that must’ve been for her. It made my blood boil, to be honest. I’d had my fair share of trauma like that from the broken family I came from, and it made me sick to know of another innocent young girl going through much of the same shit I endured as a child.
“You thinking pretty hard over there?” Guadalupe asked.
I shrugged. “Just turning something around, that’s all.”
Ginger giggled. “Thinking about lining up a run-in with Gavin? Because I can totally help you with that.”
I turned my chair back toward my computer. “I think that I need to get started on work.”
Guadalupe and Ginger kept talking as they closed my office door, but I couldn’t concentrate. I didn’t care what Gavin looked like or who he was. My heart only went out to his daughter. It not only sounded like he needed help, but it also sounded like she needed stability. Someone she could genuinely rely on while her parents were out chasing their dreams. Not that I faulted them for that, but a child needed a foundation. A child needed someone to root them to the earth, so to speak.
After all, I needed a job, and it sounded like that sweet little girl needed a security blanket.
So, after I clocked in, I found myself searching around on the internet for pictures of Gavin with his daughter, trying to get an idea of what their relationship was like, at least in the public eye.
3
Gavin
“When can we go home, Daddy?”
I smoothed my daughter’s hair out of her face. “Soon, princess. I promise, okay?”
She sniffled. “No more nights here, okay?”
I kissed her forehead. “Let’s see what the doctor sa—”
“Gavin!” The piercing, tinny sound of my ex-wife’s voice barreled down the hallway.
“Asia! Gavin! Where are you guys?”
My daughter sighed. “So loud.”
I patted her arm. “Hold on, you get some rest, okay?”
“Asia!” she shrieked.
I bolted for the door and ripped it open. “Can you keep it down, Marissa?”
She glared at me. “Where’s my daughter? I want to see her.”
I ushered her inside. “About time you showed up.”
She hissed at me. “Not much I can do about an asthma attack in the middle of a photo shoot.”
“A photo shoot? At two in the morning? You really expect me to believe—”
Then, Marissa put on her best “concerned Mom” voice. “Oh, my poor, sweet girl. How are you feeling? Have you had anything to drink? I brought your favorite.”
I closed the door and watched as she pulled out one of the few drinks Asia couldn’t stand. And it made me shake my head.
“Here,” Marissa said as she opened the fruit punch pouch. “I grabbed it at a gas station just for you.”
Asia shook her head. “No, thank you.”
Marissa paused. “No, thank you? I mean, your manners are wonderful, but since when don’t you want a fruit punch pouch?”
“Since forever,” I murmured.
